


Into the woods

by DatingSimProtagonist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Ferrets, Kidnapping, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Minor mentions of other pairings, Slavery, Theft, Will add tags as I go, Young Love, armed theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-20 14:49:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15536610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DatingSimProtagonist/pseuds/DatingSimProtagonist
Summary: Terrified of the idea of an arrange marriage, and to a girl no less, a 16 year old Arthur runs away from home to find himself a new life. It's not long before he stumbles across a trouble making, knife wielding thief, and his pet.Maybe they're the only two who can help Arthur find a new home, while they're looking for one for themselves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur meets his bride to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A bit of alcohol?

Footsteps echoed around a large empty room until they stopped. A deep inhale was taken and eyes scanned around, noting not a thing out of place.  
Large wooden panels covered the walls about halfway before dispersing into a deep red, floral wallpaper. In some areas, it had begun to peel, and the darkness of the paper in these places compared to its normal colour gave off the impression that it was damp that was loosening the thick paste that typically held it up. Thin, unblemished fingers smoothed out the paper in one particular spot against the wall, but once those fingers were gone, it returned to its place, slightly hanging and sticking out from the wall, removing the once smooth and cared for feel that the room had most likely once held.  
The footsteps themselves were alive only with the help of two combining forces. One being the person walking, the other being the solid wood that covered the floor, covered in a few places by carefully picked out furniture, and a large, worn rug, given more of an orange colour than it was originally created with thanks to the help of two large candle holders in the back corner of the room. Each held 5 candles in a small array, and 6 of the ten were lit. It may be presumed that once they had all been burning and 4 had merely gone out, but they were perfectly symmetrical in their pattern, their wax seemed to stand straighter and only damp from the sides where the heat from other flames had managed to travel and penetrate and it just so happened to be that the 4 candles closest to the deteriorating wallpaper were those that were out. Most likely a safety precaution to avoid accidentally sending the house into flames, though if the person who had lit said candles was smart, they might not have lit them at all, as the room gained most of its light from the summers afternoon glow, which not only lit the room, but avoided the flickering of shadows which lit candles brought, and which irritated the room's current only inhabitant.  
6 quick and almost silent exhales rendered the candles still and silent, though without it's orange glow, the room appeared a little more hostile. So much so, that the one who had originally stolen the light hesitated for a moment at the idea of bringing it back before deciding there was little point to the action. In less than a few moments, there would be nobody there to appreciate the journey the room had been through anyway.  
Sat between the candle holders, perfectly centred on the windowsill was a large vase of flowers. It was a porcelain white with blue markings surrounding it, interrupted only by a small triangle chip at its rim. The one staring it down felt a small rush of anger at the object, accusing it, in their mind, of having more of a story that they themselves, and if they had not composed themselves quite as quickly as they had learned to do, they might have struck it down to the wooden floor, and watch it shatter even more. Instead, they focused their attention on the half-dying flowers which sat in it. Perhaps there had been water in there at one point to keep them alive, but like much of the rest of the room, its care had long been abandoned. Two jewel-clad hands moved to the flowers to bring those which still strived for life to the front, so that their last moments of beauty may be appreciated, but the action only caused for dying petals to fall and crumple on the windowsill.  
The hand reached to pick them up before its owner heard a call and the petals were left as the footsteps continued, followed by the small creak of a door opening and the click of it shutting, the sound of the steps no more.

"Arthur! Come downstairs! It's time!"

A boy, one who one might assume was still worthy of the title 'boy', but was actually soon to be a man, walked down creaky wooden stairs, the rush in his step was apparent to anybody who knew his general leisurely pace. At the bottom of these stairs stood a rather plump woman in a simple blue dress with a white cloth apron wrapped around it. Before he had even reached the bottom step, she was running hands through his hair, trying to tame the beast that was the sunny strands.  
"Arthur dear, you have such beautiful hair, its such a shame it refuses to listen!" she said it as though she was speaking to the locks themselves, as though a good scolding might convince them to cooperate. She was a fierce woman, and one Arthur had to thank for his obedient attitude and graceful ferocity when the time called for it, but even he was sure that her tactic wasn't going to work.  
"I'm fine Eliza, if my future spouse decides that they are grotesquely disgusted by messy hair, then perhaps we don't belong together. When I am old and don't have you to fix my appearance, surely they will find out. Why make them wait so long to learn of such a disability" Their accents were different in many ways. The woman who finally let go of his hair was clearly from another place, though she had picked up the slang of her new home. Had the boy ever decided to speak like that, even now he would surely receive a belt to hid behind and sent to bed with no supper. He was supposed to speak as he did, loud, posh, and with his head held high.  
"It's not your bride I'm worried about, it's your mother" still, she had stopped worrying so much and he was allowed to go free. "There's no point in trying to wrangle the thing now, you're already late. Come on" he followed her, now both of them walked with a rush in their step, though neither even dared to think about bursting into a run, or even a light jog.  
They walked through the large building and despite its tendency to feel smaller and smaller as Arthur aged, for once it seemed huge again, and after a short walk, they got to a large wooden door.  
Arthur raised his hand slightly, parting his lips to ask a small question, but he was given no preparation before Elia knocked onto the door, gave him a small smile and rushed away. He wanted to call back to her, but again, he was interrupted. This time, from a voice in behind the door. "Ah, that must be him. Arthur sweetheart, you can enter."  
This time it was his mother, meaning he had no choice, so his hand wrapped around the door handle and he slowly pushed the wood forward as he walked in. 4 faces turned to him as he tried to close the door behind him. One of them was the all too familiar look of his mother. He would like to say he could recognise her like the back of his hand sometimes, but lately she had decided to hide her age by piling on as much makeup ad physically possible, and the only familiar thing left was her small, forced smile, which even now seemed amplified by the amount of colour she had painted her lips with. The other three, he had never seen before.  
He took his chance to subtly look the three people over as he walked over to them. They were all sat across two couches, the three bunched together on one while his mother took up a full one to herself. She placed a hand down indicating for Arthur to sit next to her and he did, finally managing to get a good look at the people across from him.  
The most startling was a large man. He seemed way too big for it to be possible, and when he spoke an almost silent 'It's nice to meet you' and gave Arthur a nod, his accent almost reminded him of Eliza. He seemed to tower over the couch he was sat on, as though he was an adult sat on a small chair made for children. On the opposite side of the couch was a young woman who seemed tiny in comparison. She had long brown hair but it was tied up neatly into a bun. The stress it gave to the skin on her forehead made her slightly intimidating, but looking at the smile on her face gave Arthur the feeling that if he ever dared to say anything negative to the woman, she would immediately start crying rather than fight back. She stayed quiet, apart from her smile, but the slight tan of her skin made Arthur assume that she was also, most likely, from another place.  
Lastly, his attention was drawn to the young woman who sat between them. She was the perfect amalgamation of her parents with light skin but dark hair, even sat, her hips seemed wide like her mothers, but her expression was similar to that of her father, flat, and a little forced. Clearly, she wanted to be here as much as Arthur did, which was not a lot at all. Her nose was small, her lips large, and her eyes a steely blue. Her face was almost perfectly symmetrical apart from a small threat of hair which had dared to slip from her neat plait and ruin the illusion that she might have been a doll, made purely to sit and look pretty. Arthur could at least admit that. She was pretty. She was what the men sat in bars drinking away their earnings wished their wives could be, she was who whores painted themselves to be like in the hoped of attracting young mean into their beds, and their money into their pockets. He tried to imagine her in bed, lay on her back with her legs spread and her chest bare. That was what, after all, he was supposed to be getting from this arrangement. A pretty young bride. The thought came and went without affecting him, and he dared to imagine her mother in the same position. Again, it cleared from his mind without much hassle. Arthur dared to look to the girl's father, large and strong, most likely defined under his clothes. He looked back at the girl.  
Arthur knew she was looking back at him and analysing him the same way, or at least, he hoped she was. If she was anything like him, he might be grateful.  
"This is my son, Arthur" he straightened his back and forced a small smile. Even if it looked forced, so did theirs, so he doubted it would cause much commotion. "Arthur, this is Alice, your bride to be." He made eye contact with the girl again, and they shared a strained glance. Neither wanted to be here, but their families gained too much to simply give them the freedom of choice when it came to love. They were 16 years old, they ought to have been married already, and this arrangement would save their families from the embarrassment of having unwed children and a terminated family line.  
"It's lovely to meet you," Arthur said, not breaking his gaze with the girl. It was her who looked down and shattered his thought pattern. "I promise, once we are married, I will be kind and give you the life that a beauty such as yourself deserves" He excellently forced emotion behind those words, so much so that even in her hesitance of being here, her darkened cheeks gave a small pink glow.  
"Thank you, Sir, I'm sure you will be a loving husband, and me, a doting wife." 'Doting' was the word she had chosen and Arthur wished she had just reused loving. They both nodded and their parents seemed happy.  
"We plan on having you wed in the coming weeks" Alice's father spoke and Arthur looked back to him. He dared to imagine him in bed. A much more erotic sight, his hands were large enough surely to wrap around Arthurs' ankles, there was no doubt that under his clothes his chest was perfectly sculpted and his demeanour promised him to be a rough but loving bed partner. Arthur met these thoughts with a straight face and pushed them from his mind. "But we decided to give you the opportunity to meet at least once before that day arrives."  
In a few weeks, Arthur would be 17, and he would be asked to live his life with the girl sat across from him. He would be forced to say yes, and they would have to bare children and pretend, for the rest of their lives, that they loved one another. "Thank you very much for the opportunity" Arthur addressed the man before looking to his daughter, "I await the day that I take you as my bride, and we share our lives."  
All three of the adults seemed to be happy with this exchange. The children, not so much.  
"We shall sort out the details, you need not do more than sit back, and wait for the day you are wed," Arthurs mother said to him and he recognised his growing frustration when he had to stop himself from pointing out the cracks in his mothers make up. "Shall we let the children run along while we prepare?" She looked to the family across and both Arthur and Alice stood up, though the man took his daughter's hand and pulled her back down.  
The room was tense for a moment, but he let out a small, warm chuckle, one that someone wouldn't expect from a man like him. "As much as I like the idea, before the wedding, I'm unwilling to allow my daughter to run off into the privacy of such a large house with her future husband just yet" Arthurs mother smiled and nodded. Was he worried about them having sex before they were married? Arthur smiled as well. Not because he found the men worry amusing, but because he found the idea of willingly laying with the girl before him hilarious. Any girl for that matter.  
"I promise I am no fiend, but I understand your worry" the smile on Arthurs' face helped everyone to relax at his slightly strained tone. Clearly, he had been in the room for too long, despite having only appeared a moment ago. He needed to leave. "I hope you have a lovely evening, and I look forward to seeing you on the day of our marriage" he smiled to the girl, and all 4 of them bid him a goodbye as he left the room.  
He closed the door behind him, ready to turn around and punch it. He decided that they would surely be disturbed by the idea that their daughter was going to marry someone who punched walls in the presence of company, and a broken hand would do him no good.

He decided to go upstairs, passing by a questioning Eliza with nothing but ignorant silence as he walked. There was still a rush in his step, though this time it was the need to be as far away from this situation as possible, which unfortunately was just up a floor. He tried to stick to walking on carpet to the slightly annoying pressure in his step couldn't be heard downstairs. He was drawn back to the room he was in before. The room with the candles and the vase and the wallpaper with a story. He stopped one room before and walked inside. The room was small and held a desk. It was dusty, and there was no surprise Eliza stopped her dusting. The room was unused entirely, having once belonged to Arthurs late father. Any important contents were removed a long time ago from the desk draws, picture frames taken from walls and spread through other places of the house, only to be further ignored. His mother had attempted to keep the smell of Arthurs father present, and several years ago, on occasion, she would walk inside and he could hear small sobs. That smell had been replaced with stale dust and spilt alcohol. Nobody had questioned where the sharp smell had come from, and Arthur was glad for it, as the room held a large liquor cabinet, and Arthur had learned to indulge himself when he found his day particularly stressful. He opened the door there now and took a bottle without looking to see which. He did not drink for the taste and found it all repulsive, but for the glow of inebriation which right now, he craved.  
From here, he returned to the room he was in before and perched himself on the windowsill, next to that vase, allowing himself to sip directly from the bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This is the second USUK fic i have going right now, its one I really want to do and I'm happy i finally got around to it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, i know its a bit of a slow one, but if you do please please leave kudos, and comment!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drunk and alone, Arthur runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: a small kiss, knives, idk, the dark?

The liquid burned as it trickled down his throat. Despite the amount of time he found himself indulging in liquor, the burn never failed to surprise him. His lips parted from the bottle and he couldn't help the way his face contorted into that of disgust and he coughed into his hand, as though he had just bitten into a slice of lemon and choked.  
This alone did not stop him from drinking more. Knowledge of relief that followed the burn was enough to reinstate the connection between his lips and the bottle, this time he was a little more prepared to drink, and though it still burned, he managed a few full gulps and closed his eyes.  
By the time his eyes had opened once more the bottle seemed much more empty, and a fair bit lighter. The thing that had pulled him from his thoughtless trance was the sound of the door at the front of the building opening, and a low chatter destroyed the silence he didn't realise he had been basking in. He didn't know why, since it had started as a low hum and turned into the chatter it was, but the sound had managed to make him jump, an action which caused a few stray droplets from the top of the bottle to fall onto his clothes. He would have to wash those out before Eliza found her way to clean them and accused him of stealing their dinner wine.  
His thirst for alcohol went unslaked and so he continued to drink until he heard footsteps outside. Clearly whoever was walking was trying to do so quietly, but the faint click of heels gave away their presence. They would move a few steps, then stop, and then a few more. They were close before Arthur realised that the sounds of doors opening and closing interluded those stops, and he knew quickly that someone was looking through the rooms.  
He slipped the bottle he had into a corner of the room, which thankfully was darker with the lack of candles, and the sun having moved a little, officially marking the evening. As he stood back up straight, he heard the door to his fathers' study open, and slowly walked to the door, knowing this room would be next.  
He knew full well that the one walking was not his mother. She rarely gave consideration to the sound of her steps and, as long as they weren't in the company of guests, would happily 'stomp' around, as Arthur would say. Eliza watched her steps more closely, especially knowing there were guests around, however, if she was looking for something, she would not drag herself through each of the rooms and look carefully and slowly. She didn't have the time for that, so perhaps it was one of the kitchen maids helping her. Arthur doubted it. What reason would they have to be up here? And what reason would they have to be looking into his father office? It was known that the room was off limits. Whoever was looking clearly didn't know the house like one who lived there.  
Arthur didn't have time to further guess who it was as the surprise was ruined for him when the door opened and he was face to face with Alice from before. Standing, he could see her properly now. The unnatural dip of her waist, accentuating her wide hips, soft, the delicate and unblemished skin of her face and arms, the only parts of her that weren't covered. She wore a dress that may have touched the floor if not for the heals she wore, it stood out awkwardly and she was obviously wearing a crinoline underneath. She stood exactly as tall as she did, something which made Arthur straighten his back slightly to loom a quarter of an inch over her. He could easily blame her height on the heels, but still, they were small and it was rather unjust to blame his own inadequacy on a lady such as herself. They were barely a foot apart, Arthur didn't dare to get any closer knowing he had alcohol on his breath, and a few drops spilt on his clothes.  
Silence settled as neither moved. Arthur was rather comfortable with this, though she, however, seemed to fumble awkwardly with her clothes as though she didn't know what to do, nor how to do it. After a moment of thought, he decided he would stop the torture of the quiet and he smiled a small, fake smile as he spoke. "I assume you came to find me then?"  
She nodded and looked up. Arthur had quite enjoyed the reflection of the rug in her eyes, and now all he saw was himself, staring back. It caused him to smile even more, not because he was happy, but because his reflection had stopped smiling, and he assumed that so had he. "I was given permission to wish you goodbye before our wedding" she spoke once she realised Arthur had made no other attempt to talk.  
"Ah" a noise rather than a word was a pathetic excuse for a conversational piece, so he quickly tried to talk and think of something more interesting. "It was lovely to meet you today" recycled words, Arthur knew, but he blamed the alcohol, which was finding its way to clouding his mind, "I do look forward to our wedding"  
She smiled and Arthur labelled her simple. Fake words of hope, repeated over and over again were enough to satisfy her. Sometimes he wished himself to be equally uneducated.  
"I look forward to it too" her smile was uncomfortably large and Arthur couldn't place why, but before he could ask her what made her quite so happy, a voice interrupted them, as they often do.  
"Alice! Come on, its time to leave"  
It was her father calling, and she looked to the stairway where he was most likely waiting at the base.  
"I'll see you soon" he turned back to Arthur and again before he could act- he really ought to get faster at acting, she leaned close and pressed a small, chaste kiss against his lips.  
Her name was called again and she quickly walked off, clearly stumbling a little in her heels. Arthur made an attempt to call a weak "goodbye" but he wasn't sure if she heard or not, and it was hard trying to convince himself to care.  
He knew she would have tasted the alcohol on her lips. Perhaps she wouldn't say anything, he doubted the girl would know the taste. This thought alone was enough to have him drop the worry, and he quickly closed the door, going back to his bottle, feeling as though he needed it now more than he did before.

Repulsed. It was still somehow the nicest word for how Arthur felt remembering her lips against his. They were chapped and painted, and Arthur had wiped his mouth only for a smudge of pink to make its way to the back of his hand. They had left, he had seen the carriage leave and the air around him felt lighter because of it. Or maybe because of the alcohol, but who was keeping track? He kept replaying the scene in his mind, the whole day even, meeting her and her family, that kiss, picturing her naked. He was supposed to indulge in those thoughts, not despise them. He stood up, the last few drops from the bottle escaped to his lips. At this point, half of them resorted to running down his chin but he had stopped caring about his clothes. He pulled himself up, apparently a little too fast because he was caused to stumble a little grabbing onto one of the candle holders which fell with him. Thankfully they were out, but he didn't have the mind to appreciate this fact.  
The walls helped him navigate his way around the room. He paid very little attention to where he was going, knowing that his own bedroom was in one direction, and he'd find his way there eventually through the smudges of his vision that remained. His mind was hard to control like this, and typically it was something he loved about alcohol. There was no need for thinking or focusing, his mind relaxed him, he loved everything, and he could sleep happily and deal with the consequences in the morning. Now, however, it dragged him through those scenes over and over and over and over and over and over.

It must have been late. Most of the lights of the house were off and it was dark. There were a few brass sconces holding candles on the wall that were lit and Arthur was thankful they were there to light his way. He walked over the spot she had kissed him, wanting to spit on the ground as though the act would damn her. He decided against it and walked in the direction he remembered his bedroom being in.  
Figuring how out his door handle worked again seemed to be an issue drunk. It took a fair amount of time and resulted in a lot of noise but his door was soon open and he kicked it closed behind him. His large bed frame seemed to glow in his vision, he wanted the joy of pressing himself against it, but instead, he walked to the vanity which sat in the corner. There was no reason why a boy his age would need a vanity. He didn't have to worry about painting his face or correcting his hair, he had Eliza for that. The mirror was dusted over, and the desk it sat on held a pile of books. He gracelessly pushed them to one side and they fell, pages bending and sitting warped. Once upon a time, he may have been worried.  
His hand brushed across the mirror sending dust flying everywhere. He tried to suppress and sneeze but failed, which only caused for more dust to fly. He looked up to the mirror. There were only certain places where he could see himself, giving his face a warped view. His eyes seemed red, as though he had been crying, as did his cheeks. He had thought one time that alcohol had given him something of a glow, but now he looked at himself and anybody would think he was a drunk who had passed out in the street wearing clothes of a class far above him. He sneezed again while he looked at himself. A small amount of snot ran down from his nose and he made a weak attempt to wipe at it. His lips, while large, we chapped and bloody. He had a habit of biting at the dead skin so much that soon enough they bled. His hair seemed more dishevelled than usual. strands of a fringe poking into his eyes.  
He was a mess. He had never seen himself like this before.  
Surely, if he had ever had the ability to do this to himself, it would have happened before. Drinking was once a rarity but had now become common practice behind closed doors and away from watching eyes and not once did he ever see himself like this. Surely it must be that girl.  
One kiss and she'd already brought him to hell. There was something terrifying about it, the more he thought about it. He was going to have to live his entire life belonging to her, her belonging to him. They would have to have children, they would have to have to raise a family together in their own house. They would have to fuck.  
He felt disgust fill him to the point that he felt nauseous. He stood up to walk away but fell slightly against the desk. He let out a quick gag before the day's food, alcohol and stomach acid forced its way up his throat, through his mouth and out, covering the once white, dusty wood. He stumbled back and it came again, trailing across the floor where he walked. His feet felt the run underneath him and he took it as a reason to fall and curl up on the ground, throwing up no less than three more times until there was nothing but stomach acid leaving him. He could barely see now and he quickly blinked hoping to get tears from his eyes and clear his head, but his head was only telling him that he couldn't stay here.

He could walk a little better now that he had successfully removed a fair amount of alcohol from his system. He opened one of his dresser draws and grabbed at a small pouch of money he had been saving. There were 10 silver pieces and 3 gold rattling together like keys inside and he took them without thought. In his rush, he couldn't think of anything else he may need to get out of this place. Money could buy him a trip to another town, far away. That was what little planning he had before he grabbed onto a jacket, pulled it around him and ran downstairs and out the front door.

It wasn't as late as he had thought it would be. Some part of him expected to walk out into the pitch black and that thought was comforting but the sun was still somewhat high and he felt cheated. Inside the house all of the curtains had been closed, he had thought it was the middle of the night, but now, he assumed it couldn't be any later than 10pm on the summers night. The thought process caused him to pause for a second but he refused to give any time to the idea that maybe he should stay. Instead, he ran.  
Grass easily gave way to his feet, flattening out between heavy steps. No one was around and he was not surprised. The air was warm, and even he knew this was the perfect weather for a meal and a nap, but he wouldn't give in the idea, not when he needed to get away. He stopped running once he was at the end of the land his family owned, 2 paths stood before him. Either he could risk running into town and being seen, or he risked running through the forest which surrounded their home and the town. It was one of those places where Arthur was warned not to enter as a small child through fear of monsters and murderers and wolves, but he would rather face any of those, even all of those, face to face than remain where he was, so he quickly disappeared behind the trees and continued to run.  
Under the cover of a thick canopy of leaves, Arthur wouldn't be alone to again mistake the idea that it was the middle of the night. The forest was dark and thick, and he could vaguely make out trails in the undergrowth from hunters and travellers that followed this route.  
He paused at a tree, leaning against it to get his breath back. Arthur had never been the most physically active person, he saw no need for it until now. He closed his eyes and let his body slide down the tree until he was sat, panting heavily.  
His vision had returned massively compared to his drunken state, and he felt the bite of sobriety at his heels and he was too tired to run from it, not that he would, having a clearer mind would help him come up with a plan. The trees and bushed around him were simply different shades of green, the path a dark brown- no doubt a light dirt when the sun decided to return. He would follow it. Either it would lead him into town and he would know to turn back and head the other way, or it would take him in the right direction from the beginning and he would be on his way out of there, out of that place, with that girl, who managed to tear him apart with just one kiss. As his breathing returned to normal, he stood up again and slowly started to walk the path. He was thankful it was summer and the sky would never go perfectly black so he could at least try to see ahead of him, he certainly wasn't about to go back for a lantern.

The rush of the whole situation was dying away, and Arthur felt a slight tiredness tugging at him. Maybe he could find an inn? Surely the travellers and hunters that came out and followed this path would need somewhere to rest, and he held on hope to the idea that he would find one soon.

Walking seemed to be taking him nowhere. The darkness had settled in and the boy was hoping that at any point he'd be able to notice the glow of a lantern, hung outside an inn. He looked around him as he walked. There was little to pay attention to save for the changing hues of green of the trees, though he was blessed with enough light to travel without being too blind. It was not his sight that caught him, but sound. He heard a step or a crack and or something, something which caught his attention enough for him to spin around and see where it was coming from. A quick shadow moved and Arthur froze.  
His mind ran to wolves and murderers and monsters and everything he had been worried about. He took a deep breath, trying to be quiet as he did. His rational mind told him that it was most likely just a fox, or a traveller, or some woodland creature which explored the night but the rest of his brain refused to listen. Any thought of sleep deprivation had left him and he turned back to the path and ran.  
His steps were quick and he could feel himself kicking up dirt behind him as he tried to follow the path in the darkness. It was a difficult task and at some point, he felt himself step into the overgrown grass, but he felt no want to step back and find the path again so he continued to run. He looked behind him again and saw the shadow moving once more. It was large, almost Arthurs size, and he knew that if it was an animal, it must certainly be one that was able to, and most likely hoping to, eat him. In his desperate attempt to look back, he was distracted, and his heel buckled under his weight and he was unable to catch himself as he fell onto his back.  
Getting up seemed like a horrible idea, surely it was close enough to catch him, all he could do now was hope that it could no longer see him in the underbrush but he could tell that it was getting closer. The grass around him moved as it stepped and he could hear breathing once it had stopped by its feet.  
Arthur felt a hand on his chest, a human hand, and something sharp pressed against his neck.

"What do we have here then?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, kinda fell apart at the end there! Please don't expect updates this often, I'm certainly going to keep updating this but around once a month, not this often.  
> I hope you like this chapter! I have big plans for this work.  
> Please comment if you have anything to say and i'll see y'all next chapter.


End file.
